


Point Blank: Missing Scenes

by Remisfriend26



Category: White Collar
Genre: Discipline, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 11:18:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13098990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remisfriend26/pseuds/Remisfriend26
Summary: A missing scene from S2E9 where Neal steals the music box from Diana and Peter finds out about the viewing.





	Point Blank: Missing Scenes

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been writing this for 8 months because life gets in the way. Ha! Posting over on LJ for the Advent Bingo challenge. Thanks to dljensengirl88 and wise_old_crone for being the best beta’s and support givers around!

Peter Burke glanced up as Diana chapped on the door of his office and stepped inside.

“What's up?” he asked, growing concerned at the expression on her face. 

“Russian Heritage Museum received an anonymous gift,” Diana explained, holding up the newspaper she was holding so he could see the front page headline. “Seems an antique music box was left in their delivery drop.”

Peter raised his eyebrows, mind whirring as he considered what she was telling him. 

He gratefully accepted the paper she offered him and scanned the page. “They're doing a public showing Sunday?”

She nodded. “By invitation only before they ship it back to St. Petersburg.”

Peter frowned thoughtfully but managed to give her a warm smile. “Thanks.”

Diana nodded, leaving quietly. Peter read through the article for a minute, grimacing. “Damn it!” he muttered, pushing himself out of his chair and storming towards the glass barrier of his balcony in search of his incorrigible CI. He was going to _kill_ Neal Caffrey.

***

“Neal.”

Neal glanced up from his conversation with Aaron, one of the younger agents he'd befriended during his time at the office, swallowing despite himself at the two-finger point Peter aimed in his direction before hearing Peter utter the words Neal was dreading -- “Get up here.”

He turned to Aaron with a wry smile and wide eyes. “Wish me luck,” he murmured as he stood from his perch on the corner of his friend’s desk and made his way up to Peter’s office. 

Peter didn't waste any time, laying into him even before the door to the glass-walled office had time to close quietly behind Neal. He held the newspaper up to Neal's face. “You knew the Russians would wanna show this off.”

Neal didn't speak, prompting Peter to scrutinise him carefully. As the CI remained silent, the agent continued suspiciously. “You're trying to lure Fowler out.”

“Someone is,” Neal countered calmly, turning earnest eyes on his boss.

“Oh, would you stop?” Peter scoffed, frustrated, tossing the newspaper back onto his desk. It lay between them both for a few seconds, taunting them, until Neal spoke again quietly.

“You could skip the viewing.”

“Oh, no, I'll be there, but you won't.” Peter paused, meeting Neal’s confused gaze with a hard look of his own as he delivered his kill shot. “You're a liability. You're benched.”

Neal forced himself not to drop his jaw at the news. His eyes couldn't hide the panic in them as he tried to call the agent’s bluff. “You can't pull me off this, Peter.”

Peter ignored the desperate gaze Neal was shooting his way; he was fed up of the young con undermining him whenever he felt like it. It was too dangerous when they had so much to lose and Peter was irritated enough with Neal’s attitude so it was easy to shut him down. “I can do whatever I want with you. You're lucky that I don't put you in lockdown. Get out.”

Neal glared at him just long enough for it to appear rude before storming towards the door of his office. 

“Neal,” Peter called, stopping Neal mid-stride. “Look at me.”

Neal didn’t move but Peter recognised the slight vibration in his shoulders as his protégé tried to keep a rein on his temper, which threatened to bubble to the surface. Peter was fed up of the attitude oozing out of Neal’s every pore and decided enough was enough. He was _not_ going to put up with this crap from the kid, not when Neal had already gone behind his back and set up a meeting with Fowler even after Peter had warned him to stay away from the rogue OMP agent. 

Neal deliberately took his time before turning around, although he knew it would infuriate his friend to be kept waiting. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and glowered at the older man. Peter met his scowl with far more patience than he felt. “I don’t appreciate this attitude of yours. You went behind my back -- again -- and stole from the FBI. You don’t get to have a tantrum with me, Neal. I know this matters to you and I will be there to take Fowler down. But _you?_ You crossed a line today, Neal. This is too far.”

Neal recognised the change in Peter’s tone towards the end and cocked his head to one side curiously. He was obviously still angry but Peter could see that he was paying attention to his words, however begrudgingly. 

“Come on, let’s take a walk.” Peter said suddenly, rising from his chair as he spoke.

“What? Peter, we have cases to solve…”

Peter was already dressed and at the door, holding it open for them to go out.“They can spare us for a while. Come on.”

Neal obediently stepped into the corridor, seemingly falling back into character with his return to the bullpen. Peter sighed. He didn’t want to deal with his friend while this annoyed but he knew Neal and he could see that sending him out of sight right now was asking for trouble. An agitated, non-busy Neal was a dangerous Neal for everyone around him. If his smart mind wasn’t focused on something, it soon found a way to get him into trouble, and Peter would not allow it. Not on his watch, not ever. The agent took a calming breath and followed his ward downstairs. “Diana, we’re just popping out to check on some leads. We shouldn’t be long. Call if you need us.”

“Sure, boss. See you in a bit.”

Diana watched them curiously as they headed out of the Department, shaking her head in sympathy for their resident informant. She’d only seen that look on Peter’s face a few times, but they almost always resulted from one of Neal’s less-than-sensible plans.

***

The car ride had been silent as Peter drove them back to the Burke’s house, not wanting to risk Mozzie interrupting this particular ‘conversation’ with his tendency to waltz into Neal’s apartment unannounced. Admittedly, Neal didn’t usually lock the door to his rooftop apartment -- which Peter found strange, given his former profession -- but in most social circles it was considered good manners to knock before entering.

It was clear to the agent that Neal was still stewing about being benched, even though Neal had caused this whole mess in the first place. Peter didn’t care if his CI didn’t want to miss the gathering, he needed to send a clear message to Neal that he couldn’t keep sneaking behind their team’s back and trying to sidestep the law for his own gain. Peter sighed as he parked his beloved Taurus, unsure how to lead this conversation. “Neal…” He began, glancing at his pouting friend.

“Save it, Peter. Just get it over with.” Peter blinked in surprise at how miffed Neal sounded, trying not to question himself. It wasn’t like Caffrey to be so distant, not when he was in trouble.

“Do you really think it was acceptable to break into Diana’s house and steal the music box, Neal?” he asked quietly, trying to keep his tone calm and measured.

Neal didn’t answer immediately. That reassured his handler considerably. If Neal didn’t think he was in the wrong -- even a little bit --, he wouldn’t have wasted any time telling Peter, in detail, why his plan was best and sure to lead to victory. The problem was, Peter mused, Neal didn’t think straight when it came to Fowler or his role in Kate’s death. 

Peter wished that El was home to talk things through with him before he had to deal with Neal’s behaviour. Somehow she could look right into his brain; understand why he did things so impulsively. Peter’s brain was wired to be logical; he thought about things in the long run and didn’t easily give in to his impulses -- not even to those that told him to throttle the frustratingly lovable man under his care. However, that wasn’t an option today

Peter knew that he and Neal made a damned good team, despite their differences. He couldn’t risk Neal doing something rash at the showing that would earn him a one-way ticket back to Supermax. 

“Neal,” Peter prompted sternly after a few more moments of silence. They were still in the car, neither of them willing to be the first to get out, to take things to the next step. Peter needed to know that Neal understood why he wasn’t willing to let this slide. 

Neal clenched his teeth so hard beside him that they both feared for a second they might crack. “Okay, _maybe_ it wasn’t my smartest move. But damn it, Peter, _some_ one needed to do something. We needed to draw him out. I _need_ to know why he killed her. Besides,” Neal continued sharply, “I’d have thought _you_ of all people would want to get him. He nearly ruined your career!”

Peter rubbed his brow and sighed, “Yes, I am well aware of that, Neal,” he answered, trying to be patient. He also knew when he was being manipulated, and he didn’t appreciate Neal using Fowler’s attempts to ruin his career against him. But in his heart he knew he’d only done it because he was so devastated about Kate’s death. He undid his seat belt, ready for action. “Come on, let’s go inside. You want some coffee?”

Recognising the olive branch for what it was, Neal nodded. “Sure. Thanks.” Watching Peter prepare coffee -- something solid, something real -- would hopefully help him get his thoughts sorted out.

Peter gave up trying to make conversation on the way inside, and scratched Satchmo’s head affectionately before proceeding into the kitchen. Neal, on the other hand, crouched down on his haunches and rubbed the lab’s glossy coat gently. Satch and Neal had taken a shine to one another the very first time the conman had showed up for breakfast, and the Burkes had long since given up on trying to get their pup’s attention whenever their friend was over. Both men went about their business in silence, glad to have a few minutes to calm themselves down before talking business. 

Out of habit, Peter opened the cupboard to retrieve some of the fancy pastries he knew Neal loved, but stopped short in his tracks. No. No treats. Neal’s behaviour had been out of order, and his attitude when Peter confronted him had been outrageous. 

He tapped his foot as he waited for the hot liquid to pour into the second cup, then carried the two steaming coffees to the living room. Neal was on the couch, flipping through one of El’s coffee table books, looking like he belonged on the cover of a magazine. Even Satchmo had risen to the occasion, as he lay curled up in a perfect ball at his feet. Peter was once again amazed at how well the younger man managed to gloss over his true feelings. Things had been particularly bad recently; Peter had spanked Neal twice in as many weeks. He knew Neal was dealing with Kate’s death, but that was no reason to break the law and put his life in danger.

Neal glanced up when he saw Peter and slid the book back onto the shelf under the table. The reprieve seemed to have calmed him down and there seemed to be some level of sound judgement in his piercing blue eyes. “Thanks,” he murmured when Peter handed him his coffee, inhaling the scent of the ground beans with a satisfied sigh. He took a sip, avoiding his handler’s gaze for a few moments, until the silence became too much for him. Neal never had been good at silence, too used to talking his way out of uncomfortable situations with his well-practiced silver tongue. 

“Uh, Peter..?” he began quietly.

Peter sipped in silence, allowing Neal to stew for a bit.

Neal swallowed down the nerves starting to flutter deep in his belly. Sure he was feeling guilty, but that didn’t mean he had to openly admit it.. “I realise that my plan might not seem great from a moral stand-point… _buuut_ ” he drew the word out so Peter wouldn’t interrupt, “I do think you’re overreacting… I did it for everyone in the office, not just me. It’s not fair for you to bench me for doing something that just evened out the playing field, so to speak.” 

Peter had to seriously resist the urge to roll his eyes at his friend’s indignant tone. “So you were just trying to help, is that it?” He placed the mug down on the coffee table before he spilled it on his pants. “Neal, you _stole_ from the FBI! What part of that plan do you think is helpful?”

Neal risked a glance at him, giving his handler his patented shrug. “It'll be better for everyone if Fowler gets justice. We’ll get answers.” Seeing Peter’s cynical expression, Neal swallowed nervously. “You didn't tell me you had the music box anyway! You should have told me.”

“Oh, sure. My apologies. I should have told you I had the music box so you could do something stupid sooner. My mistake, Neal.”

Neal frowned down at his hands silently as he considered how best to respond. He couldn't refute Peter’s implied accusation; if he'd known about the box sooner, he probably _would_ have stolen it sooner. He knew he could get results faster and he hated that Peter knew him well enough to predict his moves now. Eventually he looked up, realising Peter had spoken to him. 

At his blank expressions, Peter sighed. “Am I wrong, buddy?” Neal glanced away again, giving his handler all the confirmation he needed. Peter nodded thoughtfully, “Alright then. Neal, I promised I'd help you and I really hope that by now you know I'm a man of my word. What you did was rash, but even worse, it was dangerous and it was stupid. You could have ended up back in jail over a music box that I was going to tell you about soon anyway. Yes, I imagine your plan will draw Fowler out, but at what cost? You've left us on the back foot _again_. We now need to arrange entry, get agents in position and come up with a plan, all while hoping Fowler will make an appearance..”

“Entry wouldn't be an issue if you let me in on the showing…” Neal muttered angrily, not really caring how petulant he sounded. 

“Damnit, Neal!” Peter scolded, desperately clutching to find any small shreds of patience he still had left. Nobody could frustrate him as much as his CI could. “I said you're benched and I mean it. I'm not going to keep going round in circles with you here. If you're going to stay so damn insubordinate then I can arrange for you to go into the FBI holding cells to help you avoid temptation.”

“Right. So now you're blackmailing me?” Neal rolled his eyes. “Because that's a really mature way to handle a difference in opinions, Peter. Might as well have left me in jail to rot if that's your answer to everything.”

“Oh no, Neal” Peter countered calmly. “That's not how I plan on dealing with you at all and you know it. I'm gonna make an impression on you, sure, but you're not going back to jail. We’re partners, _even_ when you do something as dumb as this. You know the drill, Caffey. Lose the slacks and bend over the dining table.” 

“What? No. Peter, you can't just whack me for having a difference in opinion from you!”

“No, but I can spank you for going behind my back, doing something you know I wouldn't be okay with, stealing from the FBI and risking your parole yet again. Added to which, if Diana had arrived five minutes sooner we could be having this conversation in a hospital. FBI agents don't tend to miss, Neal.”

The mention of guns was enough to make Neal swallow nervously, wiping his now clammy hands on his dress trousers. He really didn't like guns and they both knew it. In hindsight, maybe stealing from Diana wasn't the best idea he'd ever had… she wasn't exactly known for sitting on her laurels. Neal’s mind was brilliant --another fact they were both acutely aware of-- but even he couldn't see his way out of this one. He couldn't argue that he hadn't screwed up, as much as he wanted to. “Alright, fine. She wouldn't have shot me, but… what? Secretly she loves me.”

“Very secretly, kid…” Peter countered, managing a grin despite the tension saturating the Burke’s Brooklyn townhouse. 

“Details, details…” Neal waved a hand dismissively, glancing down when Satch moved beside him. “Hey, buddy. You gonna protect me from your mean old dad, huh? Bet he wouldn't do this to you…” the conman complained without any real heat. Sure, he didn't like the way Peter handled his frequent indiscretions, but he appreciated the consistency and he knew that there was something about the boundaries his handler insisted on imposing upon him that was almost comforting in its familiarity; if Neal knew Peter as well as he thought, then that sentiment stood for both of them.

Peter didn't disappoint with another faux-strict response. “That's because my dog doesn't cause half as much trouble as you do, buddy. Besides, El would kill me.”

“Maybe I should express my concerns with her then…”

“Sure, you could try. I imagine for every reason you have, she'd give you a reason why this works. Now cowboy up and stop stalling. C’mon, Satch, time to get some fresh air…” 

Satch clambered up at the promise of getting outside, much to Neal's disappointment. “Aw, c’mon… We’re supposed to be brothers!” The ex-con called to the dog’s retreating from. Satch didn't even spare him a glance as he followed Peter to the back door, oblivious to the agents chuckling at his friend’s indignation.

Once the dog was safely out of the way, Peter returned to the dining room and collected their mugs to return to the kitchen for washing. He knew Neal needed to come to terms with what was going to happen or he wouldn't learn from it, and he’d be in a much better frame of mind if Peter didn't manhandle him across the table. The small, menial act would also give him a few extra moments to decide how exactly he planned to handle this latest issue between them. 

He loathed using his belt on his friend and knew that this subject was touchy, as were any topics surrounding the recently deceased Kate Moreau. Neal had found Peter’s belt particularly hard to take when he'd used it a few weeks back, but that had also been an infraction centred around Neal’s penchant towards impulsive choices. He'd used one of Neal’s fancy Armani slippers last time Neal had been caught stealing, and couldn't help feeling like Neal had learned nothing from that experience. Neal had changed hugely in the past six months while under Peter’s guidance though and the older man knew that Neal’s continued poor judgement was directly related to the devastation he felt at having lost his girlfriend. 

No, no belt today, Peter decided with a sigh. He needed to use something that was a little more personal somehow, although he'd need to increase the level of ‘tough’ in his tough love approach. He didn't want to have to repeat this lesson again soon because Neal was too pigheaded to listen to what his handler said.

He thought through his options for a moment, eventually remembering the antique hairbrush El kept upstairs at her vanity. She tended to use a different one on her hair because it was so thick, but the family heirloom was heavy oak and Peter was pretty sure it would pack a hefty punch. He pursed his lips and nodded to himself. Yeah, that would do the trick, he decided. He made his way back through the house towards the stairs, unsurprised to find Neal still debating what to do.  
“You got two minutes,” he warned on his way past the younger conman. 

Neal frowned but didn't argue and Peter left the room, knowing his friend well enough to know he'd have done as he was told by the time Peter got back. He wasn't sure if he'd be better putting Neal over his knee; the con seemed to respond better when his handler kept him close, especially in this situation. The strapping at the FBI building had solidified that fact in Peter’s mind. He couldn't get such a good swing with Neal over his lap though, and he needed to make this one count or they'd be butting heads again over this issue within the next week and Peter reckoned that neither of them had the energy for that right now.

He found the hairbrush in its usual place beside El’s jewellery box and smiled grimly as he picked it up and slapped it against his own thigh. Oh yeah, Neal would feel that, alright… Not wanting to drag things out anymore than necessary, Peter loosened his grip a little and returned downstairs. He was glad to see Neal had obeyed his instruction and was stood by the table, fedora discarded and dress slacks folded neatly over the back of one of the other dining room chairs. 

The younger man looked to him uncertainly, almost as if he wasn't sure what to expect from his handler. Peter wanted to squeeze his shoulder and reassure but he wasn't willing to be conned over something important. Instead of playing good cop, Peter cleared his throat pointedly and nodded towards the table. 

Neal opened his mouth to say something but quickly thought better of it and closed it with a sigh. He took a calming breath and forced himself to relax his shoulders, then turned towards the table and bent over. He really hated being bent over tables like this. It made him feel like Peter was angry and distant, even though logically he knew his mentor wasn't that way at all. Peter didn't hold grudges with him, despite all the dumb things he'd gotten caught up in. Neal _knew_ that in his heart but his brain was already starting to tell him otherwise. 

He _tried_ to stay quiet as Peter moved to stand behind him and put a solid hand on his lower back, but he couldn’t help starting to worry. What if Peter didn’t warm him up this time either? What if it didn’t fix things between them? What if Elizabeth walked through the door? Neal loved El like family; she was like the big sister he’d never had growing up, but the thought of her experiencing this made his blood run cold. No-one else had ever witnessed Peter’s off-book treatment of his CI’s questionable choices and although Neal had no doubt Elizabeth knew everything that happened between he and his handler he liked to maintain his bubble of denial about that one. No, he mused, it was best to keep his head down so they could finish this up quickly and get on with their lives. 

Peter’s hand landed hard against his buttocks at that point, putting an end to his thoughts. He grimaced as swat after swat fell in a steady rhythm, trying not to flinch. Pain had never been his strong point. At least Peter had taken into account that his pain threshold was embarrassingly low for someone who put himself in danger so frequently… 

Other than the sound of the spanking, the room was silent, and Neal was disappointed to realise that there was nothing in the room to successfully distract him. Usually he noticed _everything_ about his surroundings but for some reason Peter commanded his full attention when they were working together. Before the crash, Neal hadn’t cared much about his handler’s disapproval, too consumed by his missing ex-girlfriend’s safety to focus on much else. Now Peter had become the person Neal looked up to most and, although he wouldn’t admit it aloud, adored. Peter was the father he never had. He knew he wasn’t sorry for stealing the music box --Peter was in the wrong too for hiding it from him-- but he was starting to realise that he _was_ actually sorry for betraying his friend’s trust yet again.

A harder spank landed, making him grimace, and he realised Peter had spoken to him and he belatedly realised there was something harder than Peter’s hand spanking him now. “Huh?” he asked dumbly, feeling his face flame as his handler responded by targeting his thighs with some sincere swats. “Oww! Peter!”

“I asked you why I was having to do this, _again_. I didn’t realise that I was weak enough to not be holding your attention here.”

Neal shook his head empathically. “Oh no, I can assure you… You definitely are strong enough! Peter, would you lighten up a bit?! It’s not like I have anywhere to go and you’re being far too jock here…” 

It took considerable concentration on Peter’s part not to swat harder as he scoffed above his protege. “If you don’t want me to go harder, I suggest you start thinking about why we’re here again. I’ll give you a hint; stealing isn’t okay. It has never been okay, and every time I catch you doing it which, by the way, has been every time so far, I will bend you back over and heat your backside for you. Your ability to sit comfortably and maintain that suave, controlled exterior hangs in the balance Neal. It isn’t worth it.”

Neal opened his mouth to protest but closed it abruptly as he struggled to think of an excuse or justification. Peter was right though; they’d had this conversation before and if he was honest in the quiet of his heart, he knew that Peter had never once failed to keep his word. Neal owed it to his mentor to give him a chance to do what he’d said he would before putting his own plans into place. Admittedly, his plans were usually very successful, but increasingly he was finding that Peter could always see past them.

The room quiet for a while as Peter gave Neal time to come to an understanding about what he’d done wrong, before the older man spoke. “Talk to me, buddy, tell me why we’re here again.”

Neal swallowed down a ball of nerves, blushing and squirming. “Because I stole the music box from Diana… Peter!”

Peter felt Near push against his hand, in an effort to stand up so he could escape the onslaught, and increased the strength holding him steady a fraction. As Peter had expected, it was enough for Neal’s moments to still. He landed a few hefty spanks that had Neal dancing up on his tiptoes, then spoke. “I’ve already made my feelings about your wandering hands clear, Neal. Next time you get tempted, just you remember what’s happening right now. If I have to spank you every day for the rest of your parole then I will. You’re that worth it. If you keep stealing from me then trust is going to become an issue again and I don’t want that to happen. So don’t steal, come and talk to me and we can try to figure something reasonable and _legal_.” The FBI agent landed a dozen more sturdy swats before stopping and dropping the brush onto the solid oak coffee table just behind him. “Alright, I'm done. You did well. Take as long as you need, buddy, okay? I’ll go put the kettle on and we can figure out a plan.”

Peter gave Neal’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze then went to make them both coffees. He knew the kid would accept a hug in a moment or two, but he needed to let Caffrey pull himself together a little first and fix his clothes or the younger man would shut down on him. 

Sure enough, Neal appeared by his side a couple of minutes later, quiet as a shadow, and silently leaned into Peter’s side while he waited for the coffee to brew. Peter put an arm round him and offered him equally silent comfort. Neal was a wordsmith but Burke knew that his presence was more soothing than a thousand words would be, so he didn’t try to fill the role of poet. 

Eventually the coffee machine beeped, signalling it was finished, and both men reached for their respected coffees and wandered to the lounge to brainstorm. Peter sighed to himself as he sat down and took a sip of liquid caffeine and put his mind to coming up with a plan. He was resigned to having a lot of work to do with Caffrey but he hoped they were slowly getting somewhere.

***

Staking out the Russian Heritage Museum, Diana checked the location of Neal's anklet, confirming for Peter that he was safe and sound at home as they wanted. Or so they thought. Against his criminal nature, but in the best interest of his single-minded friend, Mozzie had called them to report that Neal was off his anklet and bound to do something reckless, putting Neal's FBI handlers on high alert while trying not to lose their mark.

Diana watched as Neal charmed his way past the door's blond attendant then she caller Peter to let him know Neal was on his way in. 

"Damn it," Peter cursed. "Go," he instructed Diana. 

She followed Neal as surreptitiously as she could. He had seen Fowler in a second-floor window and wasted no time making his way to his intended object of retribution. Blocked in one direction by Peter who remained at the door that stood between him and Fowler, Neal slipped back behind a wall before Peter could see him and quietly looked for a Plan B. The floor-to-ceiling glass doors offered him an opportunity. 

Diana’s eyes widened as she spotted Neal on one of the balconies on the first floor of the building. “Caffrey!” she called, hoping to stop him. "Neal!" Neal glanced at her but didn't stop, clearly determined to do what he'd come to do that afternoon.

Diana called Peter in warning. "He's upstairs," she reported. 

"Stop him!" Peter ordered.

She ran inside and up the stairs, calling to him as he turned from some sort of glass cabinet, blade in hand.

"Neal," she called, finally capturing Neal's attention. "Got nowhere to go," she said. Neal only looked at her and wordlessly turned back to the balcony he had just left to carry out his plan.

Diana ran to the top of the stairs and toward the balcony, making it just in time to watch Neal swing across the courtyard using one of the heavy curtains on the French windows, shattering glass reigning down as he crashed into the room where Fowler was hiding. 

Peter heard the shot before Diana could make it back to him. She was out of breath when she came skidding to a halt in front of her agitated boss. “Caffrey's in there, she breathed."

"He's with Fowler,” Peter swore, renewing his efforts to try to find a way to get through the door before Neal did something he’d regret later on.

***

Fowler flinched at the echo of the gunshot that Neal had sent into the ceiling above them. Neal glared at him, breathing hard. “I have five shots left," Neal warned, stepping toward the wary man. "That's the only warning you get.”

Fowler met his eye, hands up in silent plea for Neal to take it easy. "Whatever you think happened…," he started. 

"Tell me why you killed Kate!" Neal demanded, pointing the gun with a steady hand. Neal always hated guns, but he could squelch that hatred in favor of the hatred he held for the man who had deprived him of his fiancee and his only real chance at a contented life. 

"You bought the explosives," Neal began to recount.

"Caffrey," Fowler said calmly.

"You blew up the plane to get rid of us," Neal continued.

"No," Fowler corrected. 

"What was in it for you?" Neal asked, not listening to Fowler's protestations.

"Jesus, Caffrey. You think you're the only one who lost something?"

Neal cocked the gun again. "Don't play with me, Fowler," he warned, taking a fresh aim.

"You think I wanted to spend the last year of my life chasing you and a stupid box? It cost me everything!" Fowler shouted, his agitation finally growing then settling once again as he reminded Neal of his loss too. "My career is over. My wife is gone."

Finally listening to the man who clearly had nothing further to lose, Neal lowered the gun against his better wishes. The wheels of his brain turned as he considered what Fowler was saying. His hurt got the better of him as he raised the gun once again. He didn’t immediately turn from Fowler when he heard the door open abruptly behind him. Peter raised his own gun as he tried to get Neal to relinquish his. Diana trained hers on Neal as well. "Neal," Peter called.

“Stay out of this, Peter,” Neal warned, gaze fixed on the agent in front of him.

“Put the gun down," Peter ordered, watching as Neal stood his ground. "Neal, Don't do this," Peter insisted.

"You know he killed Kate," Neal said, trying to keep a hold on his anguish.

“I didn't kill her," Fowler said.

"Who did?" Neal asked, wanting to finally know the truth.

"I'm--," Fowler began 

"What do you know?" Neal asked again, stepping closer. "Tell me what you know."

Fowler shook his head, glancing out the window while he quickly entertained a new thought. Defiantly, he faced the young CI once again. "You wanna kill me, Neal? Go ahead and pull the trigger."

"Jesus, Fowler," Peter said in frustration, "You're not helping this. Neal, do not do this."

"I know he killed her," Neal decided, the gun never wavering in his hand. “He killed Kate."

"Listen to me," Peter pleaded. "If you pull that trigger, you will regret it for the rest of your life, Neal.You're not a killer."

Staring at the man who now refused to look him in the eye, Neal admitted to Peter, "I want him to know how it felt. How she felt."

"Look at me," Peter said carefully. "Look at me, Neal. Neal. Look at me, Neal," Peter urged, his voice growing more insistent. "Come on," he coaxed, finally getting Neal's attention. The disheveled young man looked over at the agent, torn between revenge and wanting to be the man Peter believed him to be. 

"This isn't who you are," Peter told him with not a hint of trickery in his voice. He believed what he was telling his CI. He knew that he was better than this. He didn't want to see him throw away everything he had gained over the past year. Not when Peter had grown so fond of the well-meaning con. Not when Peter believed he really could make a difference in Neal's life. 

Neal licked his lips as his listened to the older man, considering the possibilities of what he was now facing for having not only escaped his anklet but for holding this agent at gunpoint, even after the FBI agents had been warning him to stop.

Neal acquiesced and lowered his gun, turning back to Peter to hand him the weapon and walking off dejectedly as he ran his fingers through his hair. 

"Cuff him," Peter said to Diana who complied without question. Neal offered no resistance.

"How are we gonna handle this?" Diana asked, taking Neal's wrists in her hands.

“Call Jones," Peter answered. “You two can handle the official Bureau response. Take him back to the office. I'll figure out what to do next," he explained.

Diana nodded and pushed Neal to the door.

Peter turned back to Fowler. "Did you kill her?"

No," Fowler replied. 

“You're gonna tell me who did.”

***

Back at the office, Neal and Peter listened as Fowler explained what had transpired while Neal was in prison.

“Boss?” Diana interrupted, followed closely by Jones. 

Peter glanced up from his discussion with Fowler and Caffrey. “Yeah?” he asked impatiently; he didn’t have the energy for any more drama right now.

Diana glanced at Neal before looking back to Peter. “The marshals reset the key.”

Peter sighed as he glanced at Neal who clearly didn't want to be locked down again. “Put it on him. Take him home.”

Neal look over at his mentor in disbelief, reminding the older agent of a petulant teenager looking for a fight. “Peter, not right now,” he asked quietly, trying to keep the begging from his voice.

Peter ignored the beseeching look in the kid’s eyes. “Go home.” He instructed firmly. He was still angry about Neal’s earlier actions and didn’t have the patience to put up with arguments tonight.

***

Neal unscrewed the lid of the whisky bottle he’d been steadily working his way through since being sent home by Peter a couple of hours before. He wanted to be mad at his handler for sending him away like a disobedient child, but deep down he knew that he'd deserved it. Peter had warned him to stay away from the museum showing but he hadn't listened, too determined to confront Fowler and find out the truth. He still couldn't really believe that he'd pulled a gun on the man. No matter how much he hated Fowler, he thought he hated guns more. If anyone other than his friend had shown up to diffuse the situation…

Neal took a sip of the amber liquid in his glass, shaking his head stubbornly. He didn't even _want_ to think about what would probably have happened. He groaned, running a hand through his hair agitatedly, and wandered in a frustrated path towards the rooftop patio outside the French windows of the apartment. Usually the fresh air and breathtaking view had a soothing effect on him but tonight he was too upset to relax. Even the whisky didn't seem to be taking the edge off the way he wanted to. He was tempted to let his emotions take over, but he'd already disappointed Peter enough and he wasn't sure he wanted to add getting blind drunk to the list of infractions the older man would no doubt confront him over when they had privacy.

A knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts. With a sigh, he took another drink and padded through the apartment towards the door, stopping in surprise when it was abruptly kicked open and Peter and Diana charged inside with guns raised. “FBI!” Peter called, scanning the room to check all was okay before lowering his weapon and turning worried eyes on his friend. “Neal! Are you alright?”

Neal glanced between the agents, unsure what was going on. Then his mind caught up and he frowned, tipping back his glass to empty it and placing it down on the nearby table before turning back and raising his hands, wrists crossed over one another. “Alright. Uh, just save me the speech, could you? It isn't the first time…”

“What? Neal, no. We went to the pawn shop in Chinatown and the security was paused on you in the store. We thought someone was coming after you. Who else knows you were there?”

Neal’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped, along with his stomach. “Moz! Peter, Moz was there too!”

Peter swore under his breath, nodding his understanding while simultaneously turning to the other agent. “We need to find the little guy and fast,” he urged, turning his attention back to his visibly distressed CI. “Neal? Where is Moz?”

“It's Moz, he has places and plans that even I don't know… he doesn't exactly tell me his daily schedule, Peter. We have to find him.” 

Time seemed to slow down as Neal listened to Peter bark orders on the phone as they all headed for the door. Peter took a moment to decide his next moves with Diana, briefly considering telling Neal to stay here while they searched for his best friend and confidant, but the truth was that he felt better with the younger man by his side where he could _try_ to keep him out of trouble.

“Alright, Neal?” It took a moment to get the conman’s attention but eventually he was satisfied Neal would hear him and respond. “Let's go. We’ll case the park nearby, he quite often sits people-watching there. Stick with me, you got it?”

Neal blinked in shock. “Really? I thought…”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “You thought what, buddy?”

Neal shook his head. He didn't have time to battle this out if Peter decided to punish him for not heeding him. “Nothing… it can wait,” he corrected with a small smile that soon deepened back into a frown. “Let's go, we need to…” 

“Find Mozzie, I know. Breathe.” Peter took a moment to reach out and squeeze Neal’s shoulder. “Don't run off, alright? I want to be able to see you.” 

Peter waited for Neal to nod before giving him a nudge towards the door of the studio, slipping back into FBI mode. It took them fifteen minutes to track down Mozzie, who was sitting sideways on a park bench, hand resting loosely on his abdomen as a patch of red continued to spread on his previously white shirt. Neal found him first, his yell of horror alerting the others to his discovery. 

Peter managed to shove Neal back while tugging off his suit jacket, using it to apply pressure to the little guy’s wound while checking his pulse quickly. He let out a breath of relief to still feel a fairly steady, if shallower than he'd like, beat below his fingertips. Figured that the little guy was tough enough to survive getting shot in a park. He reminded himself not to get too hopeful and turned his head towards Diana, pleased to see her already on the phone to emergency services. Neal was stood slightly back, trembling with tears in his eyes and fists clenched. 

Deciding that he needed to do something to keep his protégée calm, he called across to him. “Hey Neal? Neal, look at me. Neal! C’mon, that's it… I need you to hold this to his wound, okay? Lots of pressure so we can try stop the bleeding. Can you do that for me?” 

Neal nodded robotically but his eyes seemed to have lost the scared, frenzied look Peter had seen developing in them. The younger man hurried over, taking over from his handler and giving his best friend his full attention. He knew a lot of first aid as a result of the jobs they'd been involved in over the years; generally it wasn't a good idea to show up at A&E hours after stealing famous art. The manual task helped him to focus and soon he was calmer and in control. He barely registered Peter calling the office to let Jones know what was going on, or the shrill sirens coming closer as an ambulance found them. It wasn't until Peter squeezed his shoulder and gently insisted he let go and let the EMT do their job that Neal stumbled back, watching in horrified silence as the medics tried to save his friend's life. Today just kept going from bad to worse.

***

Peter wasn't sure how long Neal had stood guard over his friend’s room, silently staring through the observation window of Mozzie’s room with his hands jammed in his pockets. He had no doubt the conman would have remained sitting by his partner-in-crime’s side if the medical staff had let him, but they'd insisted that Moz be left to rest in order to recover faster, much to Neal’s frustration.

Peter had gone home to change and follow some leads Diana had found about the shooter, and had tried to insist Neal went with him but to no avail. He was pleased to at least see Neal had changed, making the agent think June must have been by to visit, with the forethought to bring a change of clothes for her favourite house guest.

He sighed, stepping inside the observation area and closing the door quietly behind him, at a loss for how to speak to Neal and get him moving. It had been hours since Moz had been rushed into hospital and operated on, and Peter knew that neither he nor his CI had slept in the past 20 hours. Well, no, Peter had managed to get an hour’s catnap at Elizabeth’s insistence, but as yet nobody had insisted Caffrey do the same. Apparently this was just part of being the kid’s handler.

Buying time before announcing his presence --although he doubted Neal _hadn't_ noticed the moment the door opened -- Peter glanced around the room. The air carried with it the smell of sterile metal and liberally used disinfectants. Every surface gleamed and nothing sat out of place. There was a chilly edge to the air, but Peter wasn't sure if that was the result of air conditioning or the cold professionalism taunting him in every direction. He hadn't been there in time to save Mozzie. Sure, the little guy drove him nuts, but he'd learned to like his quirky mannerisms and often unfounded paranoia. 

Peter knew that Neal and the little guy had been keeping secrets and he knew it was something to do with that damn music box and everything that had happened with Fowler, and once again he found himself wishing Neal would just trust him and let him do his job. Even more so, he wished he could protect these two stubborn con-men from pain and danger. 

Turning back to his charge, he observed the younger man thoughtfully. The set of Neal’s shoulders spoke volumes. Neal was feeling all the things he never openly showed or admitted to. There was a vulnerability to his posture Peter had rarely ever seen and at that point, the agent couldn't be angry about Neal’s stupidity this week. He knew he _should_ confront Neal for disobeying a direct order after their discussion about his stealing earlier in the week but he couldn't do it, not when his protégée was stood there looking so defeated. 

Peter shook his head and glanced down at the file in his hand, squaring his shoulders before crossing the room to stand beside his friend. “Hey buddy,” he greeted quietly. “How's he doing?”

“The same. The doctor says it'll be a while before he wakes up, if he does.”

“He's strong Neal. I'm sure he'll make it.”

Neal didn't respond, eyes glued to the gentle rise and fall of Mozzie’s chest. 

Peter sighed to himself. He placed a gentle hand on Neal’s shoulder, hoping to give him some support in the small act. He was pleased to see Neal relax marginally when he did so. “Look, you need to go home and sleep.”

“No.” Neal shook his vehemently. “I need to be here for him. I should have been there for him and this wouldn't have happened.”

“There's no knowing that.” Peter countered patiently. “I need you to sleep. How are we meant to catch this guy,” Peter paused to tap the folder in his hand, pleased when Neal glanced at him curiously. “Mozzie’s shooter. Justin Springer. I need you on your A-game so we can catch this son of a bitch. You with me?”

Neal held out his hand for the file, eyebrows raised. Peter didn't cuss very often and the surprise of it was enough to get his attention. “You know who did this?” 

“We do,” Peter confirmed, holding it out to him. “And I need my partner by my side to help me bring justice.”

Neal managed a weak smile that soon faded again. He scanned the file in the folder before grimacing, closing it quietly. “Look, Peter… I…” he paused until he could formulate words more eloquently. “After what I did… this is all my fault.” 

Peter shook his head, meeting Neal’s eyes with empathy. “No, Neal. It isn't. You shouldn't have gone after Fowler like that when I'd told you not to, and you shouldn't have tried to chase down that music box code without me. Neither of those things make you responsible for what's happened to Mozzie. You didn't pull the trigger.”

Neal picked up on the double meaning behind the words and thought that over before speaking. “You're not mad,” he observed eventually, unable to mask his confusion.

“No, I'm not. You've been through enough this week, buddy. I know why you did it and I don't blame you. Next time, you better listen to me because I make decisions like this for a reason. I was protecting you. I want to know who killed Kate as much as you do; if El had been taken from me, I'd need to know. I really _do_ get it. But from now on, we handle this _together_. We’re partners, Neal, and partners have each other’s backs. Now, what do you say we get you home for a couple hours rest, then we find ourselves a shooter and get justice for your co-conspirator so we can give him some good news when he wakes up?”

Neal nodded sincerely, feeling the first genuinely hopeful smile cross his features in days. Peter would help him. Briefly, he was reminded of thinking the same thing a few weeks back after Peter spanked him for stealing a package from his current romantic interest, Sara Ellis, and the promise he'd made to himself to trust Peter. He’d already broken that promise but he couldn't risk that again, not when so much was at stake. “Thanks,” he whispered, meeting Peter’s knowing smile with one of his own.

He didn't have all the answers but, for now, he had his partner and that was enough.


End file.
